The Treasure Hunt
by AllINeedIsALittleFelix
Summary: Sherlock wakes up in the morning in his bed. While this is an oddity in and of itself - John conducts a treasure hunt for him. But why? What does everyone know that he doesn't? Full of puzzles, surprises and of course Johnlock
1. Sleepy Sherlock

**A/N: I've posted multiple chapters**

Sherlock woke up in the morning with the sun shining bright on his face. He snuggled into his rug, trying to shield his eyes from the sun.

Wait, what?

For the first time, Sherlock found himself on his own bed. Apparently, he had been _sleeping_ (he checked the clock) for _nine hours._

Sherlock jolted out of his bed, certain that the apocalypse had begun. He dressed up in high speed. He racked his brains to remember how and when he had fallen asleep. All he remembered was having some tea and talking to John, or rather, complaining about the lack of a case. He washed his face again with cold water, trying to remember.

His phone pinged with a special alert noise. Ugh. He couldn't deal with Mycroft right now. He stared at the screen. He was staring at a black screen with the keypad asking him to type his password. Sherlock was teaching John how to deduct passwords and Sherlock agreed to be the test subject. It began with only three lettered passwords and now they had progressed to lowercase, single word passwords. John's record time was one day three hours, but to be honest, _case_ wasn't that difficult a deduction, especially when Sherlock kept saying it. Sherlock had particularly enjoyed that one. He typed in his password (no, not John Watson. Sherlock was romantic but god forbid, never _cliché)._

 _Good morning –MH  
_ Sherlock scowled. He could literally hear the smugness dripping off Mycroft's voice.

 _I've been asked to not intervene today. I will not be available. Please do not wait your time texting me. Consider this a present – MH_

Sherlock quickly replied:

 _Bad morning now. What in the hell are you talking about? – SH_

 _I am not supposed to talk about it – MH_

 _Then why text me in the first place? – SH_

 _Oh, my. Your texting speed is impressive. But yet, do finish that tea which so occupies your left hand. – MH_

 _You just like annoying me, don't you? And tell your assistant to cancel the appointment. He obviously is elsewhere occupied. Kept YOU waiting for fifteen minutes? – SH_

 _Slipping, Sherlock, its only ten minutes – MH_

 _Stop bothering me or tell me what in God's name you were talking about – SH_

 _Finished your tea I see. Funny thing, Sherlock, I already have. Have a...nice day – MH_

 _I'll figure it out myself, I don't need you – SH_

 _Of course. Piece of advice. Learn to appreciate – MH_

 ***Message not sent. Antarctica has blocked further messages from you***

Sherlock had had many bad mornings. This would probably replace the one currently in second place. God, he hated to be confused. He, Sherlock Holmes, _slept_ for nine hours. Woke up to find Mycroft texting him and now Sherlock couldn't even reply! He called out to the only constant in his entire life in 221 B.

"Mrs. Hudson!"

No answer. Strange. She was here last night (Sherlock distinctly remembered her bringing some tea for him) and it was actually quite early in the morning. Where could she have gone?

"John! John!"

No answer. The house was eerily quiet except for the smiley on the face which seemed to be mocking Sherlock.

"I'll deal with you later" he growled.

He searched 221 B with the thoroughness he usually spent for cases. After a search which resulted in two broken glasses and one very scared cat, Sherlock noticed an envelope right on his mantelpiece. Best place to hide – plain sight. It read: _Sherlock Holmes, He Always Works Alone._

He pulled out the knife to read the note. John's note, easily distinguishable scrawl. Why on Earth was John leaving letters? He could not stop the flow of deductions.

 _New, expensive envelope, one of a pack. Bought five days ago. Took his time sealing the envelope. Important to him then._

The conclusion was inevitable.

Did John write him a _love_ letter?

Oh, dear Lord. (This definitely was the day he took the Lord's name so many times). Frankly, Sherlock did not know what to feel. While he was, against his better judgement, open to the idea of a relationship with John, (or in goldfish terms, _loved_ John), he had no idea what to do. Should he pursue this and watch it going to ruins and lose his only friend?

Sherlock scowled internally. He sounded like a bloody teenage movie heroine.

He opened the letter, unsure.

 _If you are reading this, good morning! I hope you..um..slept well? Sorry._

Ohhhh. Completely different. Emotions are always a crack in the lens.

 _Well, anyway, since you've been pining for a case, I decided to do something about it. I've been surfing online last night and saw this ad for an Escape the Room game. No, I did not buy us tickets (If I had, you would have completed it in ten minutes and would then rant about how silly it was. I am not wasting my money for that). I realised you might like a treasure hunt though. So, I designed one. It's not that easy, I've had some of the best minds help me in this._

Sherlock scoffed. What other "best minds" did he know?

 _Every time you figure something out, you'll text me. You can't use your phone for any other purpose. (I've disabled your Internet connection last night. More like had it disabled). Your mind is your only weapon. And also, the labs._

 _So, here's your first piece of the puzzle. It's easy._

" _Nectar for others, poison for you_

 _All humans need it, so do you_

 _You first clue is to find your first clue_

 _To the thing that has puzzled you_

 _Have fun Sherlock, it's all for you."_

Treasure hunt? Interesting. It didn't sound so easy either. Maybe, _maybe_ it could resolve his boredom. Well, at least it explained a few things. Like Mycroft's warning that he wouldn't help. Like Sherlock would actually take Mycroft's help. What it didn't explain however, was if John had gotten the idea last night, how did he buy the envelope five days prior? Must be for something else. It didn't matter. He had bigger things to think about.

First clue is to find the first clue. To the thing that has puzzled me. Sounded like a loop. Nectar for others, poison for me. _Normality? Social interaction? Politeness? Diplomacy? Food? Exercise? SLEEP._

So, it was John who was responsible for his nine hour sleep. That narrowed things. He was a doctor. Only way – tranquilisers.

Sherlock Holmes, only consulting detective in the world, was _drugged_ with _sleeping pills._ The tea! Mrs. Hudson was in on it too! He went to the kitchen and sure enough the cup was in the sink, staring at him innocently. He picked it up and sniffed it. That confirmed it.

 _Needless to say, I am not going to drink tea made by Mrs. H anymore – SH_

 _Good morning, Goldilocks. Figured it out then? How? Pills, pretty guessable, but the tea?– JW  
Why do people insist on saying good morning? Tea is liquid. Anyway, it was the cup. – SH_

 _I washed it twice to remove all traces of the drug! – JW_

 _Exactly my point, John. It reeks of dishwasher. Too much effort – SH_

 _Well, I had my revenge anyway. The Hound? – JW_

 _Yeah, alright, sorry – SH_

 _Next clue is in where we keep the tea. Figured you should know at least that about our kitchen. The first puzzle is the beginning of a stopwatch. It was my way of getting to know when you would wake up without actually asking you. So, your text started your own stop clock. You have ten hours. Go! – JW_

 _Thank you – SH_

For the first time, Sherlock took Mycroft's advice.

 **A/N: Next chapter is also up! Do review!**


	2. Cases ahoy!

**A/N: I've always loved stories of treasure hunts and texting when it comes to Sherlock. Figured if I like them so much, I should write them.**

He soon found the box of tea bags beneath the experimental apparatus in the cupboard. It took him quite some time to get the box. This, he realised, was John's way (other way - the first was yelling) of telling him how hard it was to make tea in the apartment. _Point made._

He eagerly rifled through the tea bags for John's next note. There was none. He had even opened all the teabags (more like tore them in a combination of disbelief and precision)

He stared towards his armchair, horror clearly written upon his face. He realised what happened. There was only one teabag which was left uninspected. It was sitting in his cup, having provided Mycroft his deduction and Sherlock his tea. He opened the teabag; take care as to not tear any note present inside. In the middle, wrapped in thin sheet of plastic, was John's next note. Sherlock heaved a small sigh of relief he did not know he was holding.

How did John know he would need plastic? Safety precaution?

A snider voice told him "You woke up in the morning, disoriented. You found the flat empty, and this only increased your confusion. You unconsciously fell into a routine which would soothe your disorientation – namely, following order in the chaos. The first thing was to make tea. You picked the teabag which was easily accessible – one that was already on the top of the box and not tightly packed between other tea bags. My God, he _knows_ you"

That's what scared Sherlock.

Dispelling other thoughts, he quickly opened the second note.

 _Your next task is to solve a crime_

 _That will unfold in this rhyme_

 _A woman found dead, a man found mad_

 _The whole affair made the family sad_

 _Some said it was the heart broken lad_

 _Whose heart the girl once had_

 _Others said it was the Devil's work_

 _Lot of gossip, abandoned spoons and forks_

 _Bodies unmarked! They yell_

 _How else could they have died, do pray tell_

 _It must have been the Devil, they said the next day_

 _When dead, the girl's lover lay_

 _Case unsolved: Two people dead_

 _Evidence is under your bed_

One found mad and two people dead. Obviously, some form of toxin was introduced to the body. It was easy to kill, but not that easy to drive someone mad. He raced to his room, thinking of the various possibilities. More importantly, the motive?

The evidence contained the list of names of all people and a more informative narrative on each of them. The dead girl's (Lisa's) and the dead boy's (Mark's) clothes, the autopsy report (idiots!) and possible suspects were what contained of the evidence.

Evidently, Lisa and Tom (her brother who went mad) had been playing cards with Mark (the lover). Mark and Tom were apparently good friends. Lisa and Mark once dated but they had a mutual breakup when they found out they wanted different things. Lisa soon started dating a guy called Adam online. No one knew who Adam was, except that he lived in Africa and soon intended to meet his online girlfriend. When he was contacted and told she was dead and how the brother went mad, he expressed some curiosity and little remorse and soon cut off all contact with Lisa's family.

The autopsy report wasn't of much use either. There were no puncture marks on the body, no trace of poison in the blood. Both of them died the same way. The mad brother was of no help.

This was all I had. I was sure about the method of murder but wasn't sure of the suspect. I raced to the lab with the clothes. I needed Molly to test for toxins.

"Hi, Sherlock" Molly beamed, more than usual, though Sherlock had no idea why.

"I need you to run a toxin test on the clothes" Sherlock said, slightly out of breath. Two hours were already up and Sherlock had no idea as to how many puzzles John had for him. Not that he was complaining.

"Um. Sure. Which ones?"

Sherlock handed her a list of ten toxins which were likely to cause these effects. On his trip to the lab, he made a trip to his mind palace which was a sufficient store of toxins dating from the late 1600's. Molly went through the list and began opening the bags containing the clothes.

"It'll take me two hours to run all the tests. These are some unusual toxins you have in there. It should make the process easier."

Sherlock merely nodded, going into a trance-like state, picturing himself in the murder scene. The first scene: three people, cosily playing cards, having fun. The windows are closed (it was winter- John had been surprisingly good with the details. It was a thirty page book). So, there must have been a fireplace or an electric heater keeping them warm. They may have a hot beverage – cocoa? Mark leaves, claiming he had to go back to his flat. They all say goodbye and Mark leaves. The door is closed and the windows are secured. No sign of footprints near the windows.

The second scene. An old flat. A person is sleeping on the bed. The doors are locked, the windows are secured except for one. No footprints under the window. He had a visitor who spoke with an accent (according to the night guard) the previous night but he left soon. Mark died in the early hours of dawn.

Piece by piece Sherlock placed it all together. Soon, it became clear as to who the criminal was.

 **A/N: I am ending this chapter since I thought people might want to think about it. Do review! By the way, this crime is not mine. It's ACD's.**


	3. John is impressed

**A/N: Well, the first crime is not mine. It belongs to ACD. The story is called the Devil's Foot I think. However, all other puzzles, the second crime, rhymes etc. are mine**

"It's Mark!" Sherlock said but no one heard him.

Molly came inside just then.

"The test is complete but John just texted me to ask you to eat something and only then to reveal the test results"

Sherlock frowned but quickly gobbled down a sandwich from the canteen.

"Well?" he asked.

"It was the Devil's Foot."

"The what?"

"Second toxin on your list? It is commonly known as the Devil's Foot"

Sherlock smiled.

 _Others said it was the work of the Devil_

He texted John.

 _Mark killed Lisa. The African boyfriend killed Mark. Method: Devil's Foot – SH_

 _Good. Now, you get to solve a real case. Contact Lestrade – JW_

 _How do you know it will be over in six hours? – SH_

 _Oh, no. It's not mine. Lestrade needs help. It's an official case – JW_

 _That's not fair! What about my hunt? – SH_

 _Help Lestrade as much as you can. Solve it if possible. Go on, impress a guy – JW_

Sherlock's stomach did a somersault.

SHSHSHSHSHSH

Half an hour later, Sherlock found himself in 221 B, investigating a double murder. The case seemed easy in the beginning but soon proved to be complex. A newly married couple, spending a part of their honeymoon in London, were killed in their hotel room two days ago. They put a Do Not Disturb sign out the door and the hotel crew merely giggled at the door and did not check on them for a day. Finally, they had to disturb them when they needed to replace the towels. The husband died to a heavy blow on the head from a blunt object and the wife was smothered by a pillow. Naturally, suspicion lay on the hotel staff.

Sherlock suspected a past love affair. After all, they were newlyweds. Whoever it was, they must have had a card to get in. He spent a lot of time going through their life history. The woman Diana apparently had an ex-husband Richard whom she had divorced a year ago. The present husband, Alex had an ex-fiancée who he had dumped for Diana. Richard currently lived in London while the fiancée lived in Nottingham. Motive was apparent.

"Get me more information about the exes" Sherlock told Lestrade, already furtively typing on his phone, only to realise there was no Internet connection.

"But how did they get in? They must have a card"

"Use your brain, Lestrade. There are so many ways. One: They could have stolen it from the staff. Two: They are a tech genius. Three: The couple let them in. I could go on all day" Sherlock, now, going through the official file since he had no other option.

Sherlock was not allowed to examine the bodies in the mortuary (Molly Hooper finally grew a backbone. Bad for Sherlock). However, Sherlock was given full access to the hotel room. Hotel rooms were his favourite to deduce. While rooms in a house told a lot about the people in them, hotel rooms revealed nothing and Sherlock had always loved a challenge. He furtively went through the suitcase.

Diana's suitcase was a mess of tops, make-up and some jewellery. Sherlock had no idea why there were so many frilly clothes around. Lace was everywhere. He found some stockings that would make The Woman proud. Lestrade blushed at the amount of lingerie the woman had and excused himself.

The husband Alex's suitcase was more organised. He had a lot of formal shirts. He was a man made of money and it was transparent that Diana chose a wealthier husband this time (Richard wasn't exactly what you would call rich). However, Sherlock was searching for things that were missing rather than what was in there. Everything seemed in order. Alex and Diana were Americans who met each other in the beach and spent their first date in a lighthouse. It was there he proposed to her. (All this apparent from a photograph taken shortly after the proposal) Diana was proudly pointing at her ring while Alex was proudly pointing at her. First date, thus the location. Alex made a lot of money when he set up his company (business cards in his pockets).

He went through the items possessed by the dead people when they died.

Alex: A Rolex, few more business cards, his mobile phone, cash (both in dollars and pounds), few keys, a handkerchief, some hotel bills, his clothes.

Diana: A platinum chain (quite old, judging by the fact that the chain left a circular imprint on Diana's neck. Sherlock made Molly check twice) a lipstick, a unused pregnancy test stick, her phone, tissues, nail polish (all of them were in her handbag with which she seemed to have tried to protect herself). She wore a cocktail dress with no pockets. Both of them were clearly heading out for the evening when they were killed.

Sherlock turned it all over in his head. It was a real case alright. Look at the difference between John's pretend one and a real one. No matter how John tried, reality provided a much complex array of situations and no guarantee that you hold all the cards in your hands to win. Something fiction could never achieve. Fiction always had its solution in the box in which it revolves. Real cases, on the other hand, push you harder and harder. There is no box. You keep on looking. Real life was the ultimate puzzle.

After an hour, after tedious reading of histories of the exes, the hotel staff and all people related to them (Lestrade collected a good amount in a surprisingly short amount of time), Sherlock finally figured it out.

"I've solved it. Yes! I've been so blind" Sherlock jumped, after an hour of silent contemplation.

"Okay, give me"

"The thing is, as I keep saying, was not what was under my nose but rather what wasn't"

"Yes, alright, details please"

Sherlock outlined how and why it was done. Lestrade seemed to only want the superficial details for now. He merely nodded when Sherlock finished and left, saying that he would go and take the necessary action now. Before leaving, he smirked a little and handed another note from John. Lestrade was in on it too? Lestrade lacked the usual enthusiasm about the end of a case and Sherlock texted John to make up for it.

 _Got your puzzle –SH_

 _Great. It's the last one. The case? – JW_

 _Solved it. – SH_

 _One hour fifteen minutes. Rate the case? –JW_

 _A seven – SH_

 _Not bad then. I'm impressed. How much do you rate mine? – JW_

 _A five. Sorry, I had to be honest. Reality offers much more variety than fiction – SH_

 _That's alright. Reality is stranger than anything the mind of man can invent, yeah? – JW_

 _Glad you understand – SH_

 _Mycroft's gonna be pissed –JW_

 _I'm sorry? – SH_

 _Devil's Foot was his case...and the double murder...was mine – JW_

 _Wait, what? –SH_

 _ ***Jumpers has blocked your messages***_

 **A/N: Go on then. Solve it! Will post again the day after tomorrow. Have fun! Don't kill me if my solution does not satisfy you. I tried my best.** _  
_


	4. See Sherlock

**A/N: Thank you for all the lovely reviews guys. I think there's a glitch in the site though – I can't see or reply to your reviews on this site. I could only see the reviews in my mail. Thanks still. As of now, no one has tried to solve the double murder. I must say I was a little disappointed. You could still try – I'll believe you if you say you haven't peeked. The answer is in the next chapter.**

 _Mycroft's gonna be pissed –JW_

 _I'm sorry? – SH_

 _Devil's Foot was his case...and the double murder...was mine – JW_

 _Wait, what? –SH_

 _ ***Jumpers has blocked your messages***_

This was _John's_ case? Ohhhhhh.

This case was a ten then. Since Sherlock couldn't solve it entirely. (The part about it being fake?)

It made complete sense. Sherlock wasn't allowed to see the bodies for there were none. A case was easy to fabricate but a body wasn't. It also explained the hotel room – a home was impossible to create for someone like Sherlock. A home is the ultimate encyclopaedia of a person's life. The effort required would be tremendous. Now that Sherlock had a better understanding of things, he realised that he should have noted the notorious absence of interviews with suspects. Sherlock merely assumed that Lestrade was scared about Sherlock's involvement. However, it had been very clever of John to make that all up.

The thought of John made Sherlock open the envelope for the next clue.

 _This is your final problem_

Sherlock's brain did a double take.

 _This is your final problem_

 _So, read close, this particular conundrum_

 _The Final Problem, the Reichenbach Fall_

 _I still remember your "last" phone call_

 _What was the Fall? I need an answer_

 _I am willing to wait, but you can't run forever_

Well, that explained why John blocked his messages. This was something John wanted to talk about in person.

 _Go to the place where it all began_

 _When you had only one (dangerous) fan_

 _While you travel, ponder this:_

 _Why everyone smirks (What did you miss?)_

 _A ritual, you must initiate_

 _To create darkness, and yes, the knife waits_

Sherlock felt something remarkably close to a feeling that resembled someone punching him in the gut and crushing his breath at the same time. He felt... _guilty._ The Fall was something he never brought up and John, while angry at first, forgave him after the bonfire incident. The reason Sherlock never brought it up was simple. He did not want John to know the amount of _control_ John had on him. Would you ever trust _anyone_ with owning you? Because that's what it is. John _owned_ Sherlock. He might not know it, but Sherlock, despite his strict marriage to his work, _cheated._

That had been the Final Problem. The problem of dealing with all these _feelings_ that arose with the realization that he was willing to die for John. Needless to say, he panicked. He ran away as soon as he could. Perhaps, part of Sherlock believed John would move on, that if he _distanced_ himself from John, John would find a suitable companion and thus let John _move_ on. It almost worked – John dated someone named Mary who was quickly removed from the scene by Mycroft when they found she was an agent on the run. John didn't need the danger.

So, when John still stayed true to him, ( _the irony)_ Sherlock played his final card. He uses his ever trusted mind palace to lock the entire incident. True, he could have just told John to move out – nah, who was he kidding? Mycroft always admired Sherlock's ability to repress things (apparently, it was a good thing). However, his mind palace wasn't that secure. There were moments – teeny, fleeting moments, like the times when John smiled at him after an inappropriate joke at a crime scene, when their knees touched while riding the taxi, when John took out Sherlock's phone from his jacket, when John massaged his head. God, that was fifteen minutes in heaven and hell simultaneously. Sherlock tries- he tries really hard and _very nearly_ succeeds.

It's only in the nights when Sherlock entertains a possibility of a _relationship_ with John. He imagines a candlelight dinner with John – Angelo giving them a knowing smirk. They would eat casually, perhaps hold hands. John's fingers would slightly brush Sherlock's. His heart races just at the thought. They would soon leave – since John's touch always turned on Sherlock. John would do these slight, barely touching strokes on his forearms that turns Sherlock's blood electric. They would look at each other- Sherlock uncertain but John determined. John would hold Sherlock's head in place – determined not to let Sherlock run away because that's what Sherlock did when he was confused. He would _retreat._ He would think and then decide. John moves closer slowly, cruelly. Because dream John knows the power of anticipation. He leans in, letting his breathe tickle Sherlock's lips. He looks Sherlock right in the eye, they would gaze at each other for an eternity and then John's lips brush Sherlock's. Sherlock sighs (slightly moans) at the thought, furious that his brain wouldn't let him see further. He knew real life was rarely so neat. Or, so he told himself in the morning, when the impulse to touch John would decrease considerably.

It wasn't that John was cruel, or John had a history of breaking people's hearts. The first, _obvious_ barrier was John's sexuality. John showed no history of dating men. Even if he were gay, there was a reason Sherlock didn't scream and hug people with joy. Because he _knew_ people. Despite what they say, everyone is bound by their _own_ needs. Personal gain. Priorities shift, impressions don't last, happiness is made comparative. There was a basic human tendency – right from a three year old kid – people get _bored._ That was the reason why people cheat – because the unobtainable is always sexier.

People's thoughts aren't set in stones. They are mere clouds – drifting aimlessly, content to be at a place but forced to change with a strong wind. However, Sherlock wasn't like them. When he did something, he did it fully. If he were to _love_ someone – there would be no moving on. At least not in the mere twenty years he had left. Caring was not an advantage, not when he knew he would be left broken hearted. So, Mycroft and Sherlock chose the only path remaining – a marriage to their work. It worked spectacularly well. However, now with John...Sherlock locked away this particular thought process. He read the clue again, the location _obvious._

On the overleaf was written : _I'm waiting_

SHSHSHSHSHSHSH

While Sherlock was on his way to (if you haven't already figured it out) St. Bartholomew's, he kept thinking about what he didn't know. Why was he being summoned to the lab? Was there a case? God forbid, was it an _intervention?_ No, not an intervention. Was Molly going to do a medical check-up? Was that why John was buttering Sherlock up? That must be it. The knife was waiting for surgery.

He went into the hospital, trying to figure out who it was he was going to meet. As far as he could make out (by the vehicles in the parking spot), John and Molly were there. No one else was there though (why was he expecting multiple people again?).

He walked into the elevators with ten minutes to spare in his stopwatch. He was going to finish the hunt on time. However, he didn't know if he was going to finish the hunt (he still did not know what everyone knew – did that count?)

He ran through the corridors, surprised at the darkness. How was he supposed to create darkness now? He opened the doors of the lab, his brain warning him that something unexpected was going to happen.

 **A/N: One more chapter also up? Yeah, yeah, thank me by reviewing. :P**


	5. Hope

**A/N: This is the last chapter. I am going on a (longer) hiatus this time. See you all in May!**

He ran through the corridors, surprised at the darkness. How was he supposed to create darkness now? He opened the doors of the lab, his brain warning him that something unexpected was going to happen.

"SURPRISE" four voices yelled and the lights turned back on.

Sherlock was momentarily blinded by the light. It took him exactly five seconds to realise what was happening. Great big balloons were everywhere, but surprisingly they had quite a classy look to them. There was a chocolate cake filled with candles (stupid! That explained why John insisted Sherlock having a differently flavoured slice of cake every breakfast. Sherlock distinctly remembered eating a little more of the chocolate slice). A knife was indeed, like John said, waiting. The deduction was _Anderson_ -level. It was a _birthday_ party. Mrs. H, Molly, Mike and Lestrade were looking at him, smiles on their face.

 _Where is John?_

Sherlock felt many emotions – initially blindness, then confusion, later surprise and a little happiness, and finally he settled on _disgust_. He snorted loudly which surprised everyone. He put on an expression of someone whose ego had just been injured.

"A surprise party is the ultimate insult to a detective" he said, since they still looked confused.

"Don't tell me you don't love a surprise" John's voice sounded behind him. Sherlock turned so fast that his neck cricked. John looked merely amused. And a little bit happy.

Sherlock had forgotten what he had intended to say. Shit. He was turning into those bloody teenage girls in those movies again. He collected his composure _quickly (_ 0.53 seconds to be exact) and replied:

"Was this supposed to be a surprise?"

John looked slightly hurt, but then smiled like a parent who he knew his kid was lying.

"You're bluffing. I _know_ you Sherlock Holmes" John said.

The hairs on the back of his neck rose.

"If you had known, you would have made the whole world know that you know. You would have banged open the doors with a ready quip in hand to show us all that you figured it all out" John said. Sherlock accepted defeat, that is, he did not argue further and let John take his coat to hang.

Sherlock had no idea what made him do this, he wasn't even aware of deciding to do this, but somehow he found himself walking towards the coat hanger and whispering:

"You do know how to impress a guy, John Watson"

John stiffened up immediately. He slowly turned to face Sherlock. The distance was painfully close, or rather painfully far. John was about to say something when:

"Oi! I've a case to go back home to" Lestrade's voice pierced the moment.

"Dear god above!" Sherlock's mind yelled.

The party was surprisingly short. They sang while he cut the cake and had generous amounts of it. There was also beer in the burettes, beakers, basically every chemical apparatus that could hold liquid. Mrs. Hudson smiled and hugged him, adding a few comments on how he should settle down. Lestrade merely smiled at him. His eyes held the triumph of fooling Sherlock Holmes with a fake real case. Sherlock's respect for Gavin went up a little bit, that is, he decided he would find out Lestrade's first name. Molly smiled at him and wished him well, nothing like the Christmas incident. Mike wished him and said _he_ deserved a gift for giving Sherlock a friend for life. Sherlock secretly conceded.

They all give him their gifts and soon left. It was only John and Sherlock now. John suggested going back to 221 B. Sherlock acquiesced.

There were a pile of boxes waiting for him on the armchair. Sherlock deposited his present gifts into his armchair. He swallowed once or twice, determined to say the things that he _should._

"John?"

"Mm-hm?"

"Thank you"

John stopped in his process of pulling out of his socks.

"You're welcome, mate. Though, there will be no presents for ten more years or so, mind you" he said, merriment in his eyes. This was what Sherlock preferred best. A nice time with a friend.

"So, how did you figure it out? The double murder"

"I fell in my own pit. I did not realize what was missing."

John nodded.

"The wedding rings. They were killed by one of the crew for the jewellery."

"But he didn't take anything else, like the platinum chain for example"

"He was clever. The chain left a print on her neck. It would be realised missing immediately. SO, would the rings but again that just proves how much people can't see what they don't see."

"You mean, I was clever?" John smirked a little.

Sherlock did not reply, instead opting to open his presents.

"I was serious about the ten year thing. I told them they didn't have to get you gifts for the next ten years so to put the effort into a good one. So, don't go expecting these gifts the next year."

"You wanted the day to be perfect" Sherlock realised.

He tried to deduce the gits, but they were skilfully packed in shapeless boxes. He opened them, resigned that he would have to wait to know the contents of the box, and truth to be told, he was enjoying this a little. Was this how normal people felt like when they opened a present?

The presents included mostly promises (Mrs. Hudson would let Sherlock experiment in the kitchen every year on his birthday, Lestrade gave full access to cases they would get the following month while Molly invited him to a game of Guess the Career in which she would let Sherlock examine the limbs of every dead person on her slab while Sherlock would guess their profession). However, Mrs. Hudson provided him with some books on bee-keeping. He opened a red present already knowing who it was from. He received similar present ages ago. It could not be a phone this time.

It wasn't a phone. It was a whip. She had three words for him: _Use it well._

Sherlock blushed at the implications.

He then proceeded to open John's multiple gifts. John had gotten him a very powerful magnifying glass, a new bow for his violin, a quite promising analysis of blood splatters, a new scarf and most importantly, two tickets for a violin concerto which Sherlock had no doubt, must have cost a fortune.

Sherlock looked at his presents, overwhelmed by the love of his friends. He turned to thank John once again. Only problem, John wasn't there. He went to his bedroom, clutching Mycroft's present with him.

John was in his room, pacing back and forth, like a man on a mission. Sherlock knocked.

"Come in" a terse response.

Sherlock entered. The atmosphere was awkward, nothing like the easygoing attitude before. John looked at Sherlock for something to say while Sherlock waited for John. They both stared at each other, not wanting to break the moment.

"Make a deduction" John whispered, after some time.

Sherlock instinctively moved closer.

"You're afraid"

"Yes"

"But why?"

"Figure it out, Sherlock Holmes. Why would someone go through these lengths to do this for you?"

"Because..." Sherlock stuttered, eyes wide. "Because...you like me"

The realisation was like a knife to the gut. He had it wrong. John had said nothing to convince Sherlock, but the ever insecure Sherlock realised.

 _I own John Watson_

John, on the other hand, merely looked at Sherlock, a mask of no emotion. He was learning from Sherlock, it would seem.

"John..."

John cut him off, as if he was suddenly broken out of a reverie.

"Look Sherlock, I know your philosophy okay? I've talked to Mycroft. He was the one who convinced me to go for it since you were bi. Sherlock, there's a reason why I... _I love you_ , okay? I am not asking you to marry me or anything – I am willing to wait. Wait for you to trust again. Wait for you to hope that I won't leave. Because, really, Sherlock, all we have is hope. Hope _is_ irrational agreed but do you think every man on this planet loves believing they will be happily married ever after? No. They hope. They _hope_ that they get to grow old with their spouse, _hope_ to play with their kids, _hope_ to see their children happily settled, _hope_ to play with their grandkids then, _hope_ that they can have their own bubble of happiness. And, all we do have is hope. It drives every human to their actions. Just...give hoping a chance"

SHSHSHSHSHSH

Sherlock sat on his own bed, recalling the adventures of the day. He had woken up confused and was now even more confused. Sherlock opened Mycroft's present, an attempt to think about something else. They were wedding rings, a family heirloom. The note read:

 _When the time comes._

Sherlock knew he and John had a lot to talk about – The Woman's death, The Fall, Charles Augustus Magnussen, Mycroft's interference with Mary. Sherlock knew John had his own ghosts to talk about – that shoulder wound, Harry, a letter John stored in his locker...they had so many things to tell each other. Things that would make, strengthen or perhaps break their relationship. Sherlock would need a lot of time and evidence to believe John would _stay._

But it felt nice to believe that the rings could be used _when the time comes._

Sherlock _hoped._

 **A/N: Any queries..I've left some things unexplained...so feel free to PM. Btw, their first date is the concerto.**

 **Please review!**


End file.
